


Creep

by orphan_account



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Angst, Connor is sad, Death, Oneshot, Possibly a continuation, Sad, Short, Suicidal Thoughts, Technically?, but i don't blame him, connors a bit creepy in this, extremely sad, very sad, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-24 22:31:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14963432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This could be a considered continuation of my other fanfic, Russian Roulette, or just a different response Connor could have held to the same situation.People might find him responding to this situation action creepy, odd, or just plain sad. I’ve somewhat wanted to dabble with a (deviant, yet not to the point where he is able to be one) Connor that doesn’t know how to express his feelings or reactions upon a loved one's death.





	Creep

Connor curled his fingers through the dead man’s hair, the strands thin and fragile. It was different to compare it to his own hair. Hank’s hair was shaggy and old, weakened with age as he was. Connor’s hair was thick and curly, kept alive by his ageless body. The major difference was that one part of Hank’s hair was bloody.

He could see the small reflection of his distressed, red LED against the wall. It was difficult to breathe, to get air through his nonexistent lungs. He could still feel his cold tears still running down his cheeks. Connor’s systems kept checking Hank’s vitals for some reason, though he was fully aware that he was upon somatic death, his vitals are long gone and not coming back.

The body was shifted into Connor’s grip, he’d moved to hold onto him and position Hank as if he was being hugged. He wanted to latch onto any warmth he found on him, although _the body goes room temperature after the heart stops beating_. 

Rigor mortis had settled in, the arms stiff around him in a hugging manner. Connor didn’t want to let go, either. He found himself glancing over the body over and over again, as if expecting him to wake up and just call him an idiot for believing he was actually dead. He wanted that to be the case, he’d give everything for that to be the case.

But he didn’t have everything. 

He had pulled the pistol into his own grip, stiffly keeping his hand there. Connor wasn’t going to _shoot_ himself, no. He would be recovered if that was the case. He was going to wait. He was going to wait to be found. They’d come over him, then they’d place the death upon him. He’d be called problematic, dismantled into pieces to be sold off to other bodies, and his memory cards completely wiped.

That’s what he wanted, and he’ll wait to get it. If it’s oblivion where he goes, then at least he’s going somewhere.


End file.
